What We Can't Control
by SnowPrincessMossy
Summary: "You're not dying Aelita!" I lie to her, we both know full well it's a lie but it still brings tears to my eyes to see her give up.


**What's this? A new story? For Code Lyoko? I know, shocking. If you want someone to blame/thank, blame/thank Kittyclaw. She updated, and I wanted to avoid my homework. So I pulled this (ancient) thing out and finished it. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Code Lyoko.**

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><p>Red and white lights flash in the night air, paramedics and cops bustling around, checking the damage, but there's only one thing on my mind.<p>

"Aelita!" I called, just before I saw her, feeble and bleeding on the side of the road.

She opens her mouth and I run to her, she looks confused, not knowing how I got there. I pull her into my arms, her body feeling small and broken in my arms. She winces.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, "I didn't mean to hurt you." I loosen my grip.

"No," She argues, "Hold me close for a moment, I don't want to be alone when I die."

"You're not dying Aelita!" I lie to her, we both know full well it's a lie but it still brings tears to my eyes to see her give up.

"I am, Odd." She whispers, her voice fading fast, "I love you." And then she's gone, and I let my tears fall.

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><p>A bell jingles and shoes clomp into the store. I stand up from behind the counter and watch as they make their way lazily around the various paintings, drawings, and sculptures. Tourists. I can tell by the telltale disposable cameras that poke from their pockets, the maps that they cling to like a cat clings to a tree, and the way they skim over each item that I have worked hard to create.<p>

"Excuse me sir, are we allowed in that room back there?" A woman has come to ask about the back room. Again. They always ask but never care.

"Nothing in there is for sale. You're free to look but no photography." I respond. The look on her face is the same as every other tourist's, a look that says 'why should I bother?'

The woman nods and wanders off, back to the shelves of what is for sale. Typical. They always do that. Only the local children are interested in what they can't buy.

"Sir?" A man is calling to me from the door of the back room.

"Yes?" I ask, stepping around the counter to go over to him. Why should I shout through the store?

"Why is none of this for sale? You could make millions off of some of this stuff."

The question everyone who dares poke their heads back here asks.

"I couldn't possibly sell any of this stuff; most of it is one of a kind." I can't sell anything you made; it's all I have left.

"Surely you can get more of its kind." The man persists.

"No sir, the art can never be replaced." I may have made it, but I will never again be able to re-create these works of art that you inspired. You took my inspiration with you when you died.

"Excuse me, I have to help this lady." I walk off, back to the counter where the lady who asked about the back room earlier is waiting with a small sculpted dog.

"That'll be 5.50 ma'am."

She forks over the money and I thank her, though I don't know why. It's my job to take her money, and it's her duty as a customer to give it to me in exchange for my art, but I still feel obliged to thank every customer.

She nods curtly, stuffs my art in her oversized purse, and drags who I can only assume is her husband through the doors, letting the bell jingle as she leaves the store.

The man hasn't left the back room. I'm surprised; he must love the artwork a lot. Not that it's anything less than stunning, but most people give up after a while; not interested in what they can't have. The store is quiet, so I go back to join him, he looks like a talkative man.

"Such an eclectic mix you've got back here." He says.

"It looks that way doesn't it?" I muse, "It's all inspired by one person. But she's dead now, and this room full of the only things I have left of her."

"So sad. I would have loved to meet her."

I nod, "She was an amazing person." The man leaves after a while, and I'm left in the back room. Alone in the quiet with the things that remind me of you.

"Odd!" cries a familiar voice from the main room, hurried footsteps slow as they reach the doorway.

Ulrich shakes his head, "You gotta get your head out of the clouds buddy," He says, watching me, "You can't spend your life mourning that dream girl."

"If Yumi died tomorrow wouldn't you spend your life mourning her?" I ask, not looking at my friend, unable for the moment to tear my eyes from the painting of her laughing face.

"I'd mourn Odd, but not forever. Besides, Yumi is a real person, not some girl from a dream." Ulrich says, coming over to stand beside me.

"She was real!" I raise my voice at Ulrich, turning angrily to face him. "She wasn't just a dream! I know it, she really died that night and I couldn't save her!" My voice wavers and drops with my head and shoulders, "I never could save anyone."

"That wasn't your fault either Odd," Ulrich reassures me, though his voice has a hard edge to it. "Jeremie's death wasn't your fault, nobody could have saved him."

"But I dreamt that too Ulrich, I dreamt about him dying and then it happened, the same was it happened in the dream. All my dreams come true. Aelita was no different." I try again to convince him, as I have numerous times before but he never believes me. He thinks I need to move on, to sell these works of art that Aelita inspired so I can finally get her out of my life. But I don't want to lose her memory. She came to me in my dark hour and made me happy; I can't lose my bright spark now. I don't know what I'd do without her.

Just then, there's a scream and a crash, followed quickly by the tinkling smash of glass and ceramic artwork.

Ulrich and I look at each other and run from the backroom to see what's going on. A van is sitting, rumbling slightly where my front window used to be. A couple shelves are knocked over and glass, ceramic, and scattered paintings now litter the floor. Among the wreckage, a few feet in front of the van's wrinkled front end, lies a young woman with short pink hair. She's bleeding, and looks small, broken, and shockingly familiar lying among my shattered artwork.

"Aelita?" I whisper in shock, crunching through the mess to crouch down beside her.

"Who are you?" She asks, half-opening an emerald eye to peer at me in pain.

My heart sinks as I realize that this moment is what I dreamt of so many years ago. Only this time, Aelita doesn't know who I am, because I met her in a dream. A dream that could have come true if I had only found her sooner. And then she's gone, whisked away by paramedics who look at her with sad, sorry eyes that confirm my suspicions. She won't make it. She'll die just like she did in my dream and there's nothing I can do to stop it. She's gone before I even really met her. It's as if she's died twice, and somehow, it hurts more this time even though I didn't know her. It hurts more because I know now that I was right all along. She was real, and if I'd trusted myself more I'd have saved her. But I didn't. And now I'll never know her. The girl I met in a dream that took all my darkness away is gone. And if I was right this time, maybe Ulrich was right too.

The next day, I put the paintings in the back room up for sale.


End file.
